


Brother in Arms

by pastelwitchling



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Brief suicidal thoughts, Captain Alex Manes, Chair Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Malex, Self-Harm, brother moments, max/alex friendship because I love those two together so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28746876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelwitchling/pseuds/pastelwitchling
Summary: Michael's view of Alex changes after Scott Mason, Alex's brother in arms, is killed in action.
Relationships: Michael Guerin & Alex Manes, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 29
Kudos: 160





	1. Sound the Bugle

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, even a little bit, commenting and sharing always make the world of a difference to a creator ❤

It was past midnight at the Pony when Alex got the call.

Michael was at the counter, coming in and out of Isobel and Maria’s conversation as he scanned the bar, looking for one particular man who said he’d try to come in late. Because they did that now. Offhandedly mention whether or not they were likely to see each other. It was a nice change of pace.

Michael straightened in his seat when he saw Alex finally come in, his hair windswept, his shoulders scrunched against the cold outside. He caught his eyes, and Alex smiled softly, weaving through the crowd towards him.

“Hi,” Michael said.

“Hey,” Alex murmured, his cheeks and nose red from the cold. They held each other’s gaze for several long seconds before Alex looked down, tugging off his scarf. Progress.

Michael cleared his throat and adjusted himself slightly on his chair, subtly scooting closer to Alex, to get a whiff of his vanilla scent, to feel the roughness of his jeans against his own. Alex seemed to notice and he turned slightly so that his left knee just barely grazed Michael’s.

Michael began to smile until he noticed the slight tension in Alex’s shoulders, the pinch of his brows, the pensive purse of his lips.

He looked back over his shoulder at Isobel and Maria, and when he was sure they wouldn’t be overheard, said, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said on a sigh. “Just feel a little off, don’t know why.”

“Maybe you’re just tired from work?”

Alex hummed, unconvinced. “Maybe.”

For the next half-hour, Michael tried getting Alex to smile in earnest. He kept close to him, listening to his day and telling him all about his own. He pretended to swoon (absolutely not actually swooning on the inside) when Alex mentioned his team following his orders, and made a sexual innuendo about Alex’s commands and authority. At one point, he even got a laugh from Alex that made his heart flutter in an embarrassing way that he swore never to mention aloud to anyone.

Michael was sure he looked like a lovesick idiot, smiling at Alex like he did when they were seventeen and he had managed to make the emo kid giggle, but he didn’t care. Moments like these, when they got to just be happy to have each other, weren’t as common as Michael wanted them to be. Some words were still too hard to say, and some confessions still stuck in Michael’s throat, keeping him frozen when he longed more than anything to cling to Alex and never let him go.

But if he’d known the kind of call Alex would get in the next few minutes, he would’ve held on and kept him on that stool, kept him from picking up. He would’ve taken him to the airstream, and they would’ve gotten lost in each other’s touch, a night they probably wouldn’t have talked about the next morning, if only to give him one more night of peace.

But how could he have predicted, when Alex’s phone had rung, the way Alex’s smile would dim at the sight of the caller on the screen? The way panic would cross his expression, however trained he was to hide it? The way his jaw would clench and he’d mutter an excuse under his breath to take his call outside? How could Michael have predicted coming out onto the Wild Pony’s back porch to see Alex sitting on the front step, numbly writing out a date and address in Nashville?

“Okay, Katie,” he said into his phone. “Yeah. . . . Eleven. . . . Mm.”

Michael heard crying on the other end of the line. Alex listened silently, staring at the address he’d written, mindlessly underlining it over and over, the pen tearing into the paper. Alex didn’t seem to notice.

Michael heard muffled voices, Alex responded with, “I’m going right now. I’ll see you in the morning,” and he hung up.

Michael swallowed. “Alex?”

Alex didn’t looked around at him. “Air Force buddy,” he said, and sniffled. “That was his sister.”

Michael’s shoulders fell. There was only one reason Alex’s military buddy’s family would be calling. He came to sit down beside him.

“Private –”

“I need to pack,” he said, standing. His eyes were dry, his tone calculating. “Get some things ready.” He was already typing something on his phone, and Michael followed to find a list of flights to Nashville.

“O-Okay,” Michael tried. “I can drive you –”

“If anybody asks, can you just tell them I’ll be out of town for a few days?” he said, eyes on his phone, his other hand stuffing the piece of paper into his pocket.

“Uh – yeah, but, Alex –”

“Thanks, Guerin,” he said, climbing into his car. Michael’s mouth hung open on a silent sentence as Alex drove away.

*

It was a freezing late morning in Nashville, as if even the weather was lamenting the loss of a great man. Alex sat a few chairs down from Katie and her mother, both pairs of blue eyes filled with tears. The sun caught off Katie’s blonde hair, turning it gold, just as Scott’s used to be.

Scott had joined the military a week before Alex had. He had been a ball of light and energy the day he’d arrived, catching Alex’s eyes with a smile and sticking by his side ever since. Alex, who had wanted to keep his head down and get the work done, to rise in ranks with the sole purpose of defeating those who thought they could beat him down, was taken hostage by this man’s piercing blue eyes and his kind voice.

_“You and me, Manes,”_ he’d said that first night, taking the bed beside Alex’s, _“we’re brothers.”_

_“I don’t need another brother,”_ Alex had murmured, glad for the dark that hid his blush.

Scott had smiled. _“Then I’ll be more.”_

And he had been. It felt strange to go through the months of basics, feeling like part of him was missing unless Scott was there. This blond, disastrous, one-man hurricane had been the same way; always a little more out of control, always a little easier to slip up, always scolded more by the sergeant unless Alex was there to reel him in. He’d been, in every way, Alex’s opposite. As they had lain on their stomachs one night, Alex had told him as much.

“Which makes it all the more incredible how much we connect,” Scott had said. He’d had a fondness in his eyes then that Alex had pretended not to notice. “That’s us, Manes, just like I’d said we’d be. More.”

When Alex had left, they’d kept in touch as much as they were able. A call here, a letter there. Neither of them ever feeling like they were separated at all. No “I miss you”s, just ventures relayed and heartaches confessed.

_“Next time I see you, I’ll have a word with that cowboy of yours,”_ Scott had told him on their last discreet phone call. Alex had laughed and asked him when that visit would come.

_“Soon,”_ Scott had promised. _“I’ll come running home to you, brother.”_

As Alex watched them lower the black coffin into the ground, those words echoed on repeat in his head. Scott’s team stood, saluting as the bugle played and Alex heard faint sniffles and cries behind him, all turned to background noise.

It felt wrong. Knowing a force of nature like Scott Mason rested in a wooden box, the American flag folded and handed to his mother who clung to it now as if it was her son himself. Alex didn’t take his eyes off the coffin until it was thoroughly buried. People around him began to disperse, but Alex sat there, his fingers quickly growing numb with the cold.

He buried his chin deeper into his scarf, Scott’s laugh in his ears. He would be returning to Roswell in a few hours.

_Would that be okay, Scott?_ he thought, hoping his friend could read his thoughts as he always managed to do, and answer him. _If I left?_

He had yet to shed a tear, and felt a strange tingling in his chest, like something was building up to be released but couldn’t quite make it through the surface. He wondered if he should stop by his buddy’s favorite burger place around the street before he left, get a double cheeseburger with fries, and dip them in a milkshake.

_“Try it,”_ he’d encouraged him on their first leave. _“You’ll thank me.”_

Alex blew a tiny breath, a white cloud forming before his face. He muttered, “Thanks, brother.”

“Alex,” someone gasped, “what’d you do?”

Alex looked up, blinking out of his thoughts. He realized almost everyone around them had gone, and Katie stood next to him now, her blue eyes looking down with worry. He followed her gaze and saw that he’d carved into the back of his hand with his thumb, a faint line of blood trickling down the torn skin.

“Oh,” he said. He wiped his hand against his jacket as he stood. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

Katie searched his face. Her lower lip trembled as she opened her mouth. “I –” she cleared her throat. “I can’t imagine what he meant to you.”

Alex nodded. _It’s not real_ , he thought. _Scott’s fine. He’s not the kind of man who dies. I’m just having a nightmare. I’ll wake up, and my brother will be fine._

Still, even as he thought so, he said, “Your brother loved you, Katie.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she sniffled as she roughly wiped her face. “He loved you, too.”

Alex held out his arms, and Katie fell in against him, hugging his waist tightly enough to bruise. Alex only wished he could feel any of it.

There was to be a reception. Alex had insisted he would help take care of things while Scott’s mother, Ashley, tried to relax. She’d been frighteningly quiet since Alex had arrived two days ago, but Katie assured him that she spent the nights crying.

“She’s letting it out,” she assured him. “Wears herself out half the time. I just don’t think she’s really processed it yet, but she’s getting there.”

Hours later, after guests had gone, Alex found himself sitting amongst Scott’s immediate family. His mother and sister, his uncles and aunts and a few of his first cousins who were able to fly back into town on short notice.

An untouched cup of wine sat in front of Alex on the table as his family laughed through their tears, recounting stories about Scott, memories of him as a kid, funny letters he’d send back so that none of them would ever worry about him.

“He was a good man,” his uncle said gruffly, keeping his head down to hide his glistening eyes.

Alex nodded, his heart still tingling strangely, not quite letting him breathe. “He was a hero,” he said, and was met with nods and “Hear Hear!”s and more tears. Alex wished he could cry. Why couldn’t he cry?

“I remember when he brought you home, Alex,” Ashley said hoarsely, her smile faint. “I was so sure we were going to get some big news.”

Katie scoffed half-heartedly, leaning her chin on her palm. “Mom made Scott’s favorite ribs and chocolate cupcakes. She was so proud he finally found someone. Then Scott told us you were just his friend, and she kept huffing through dinner.”

The corner of Alex’s lips quirked up. “Sorry.”

Ashley grasped Alex’s arm and gave it a tight squeeze. “Far as I’m concerned, sweetheart, you were the only one Scott ever really loved. I felt it in my bones.” Her smiled faded, and her chuckles turned to sobs. Her forehead came to rest on Alex’s shoulder, and he put a hand on her head, keeping her steady against him.

The rest of the group dissolved into sniffles for the next hour. When Ashley had worn herself out and fallen asleep on the couch, Alex stood and grabbed his jacket.

“You have a flight back to Roswell already?” Katie asked, stretching.

He nodded. “I need to get back.”

She managed a smirk. “To your cowboy?”

He scoffed. “Anything else Scott told you?”

“Just that you never wanted to go back to Roswell during your leaves,” she said. “Said you didn’t think anyone would care. You still think that?”

Alex considered it, and it gave him a headache. He exhaled a soft chuckle. “I can’t think of much right now.”

Her eyes were kind. “I understand.” She heaved a groan that cracked at the end. “Is it bad that I kind of want to fast forward to next year? When all of this is just a bad memory?”

“No,” Alex said, pulling her in for another hug. He sighed against the top of her head. “It’s not bad at all.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Alex,” she whispered into his shoulder. “You’re family, too.”

A lump lodged itself in Alex’s throat. Try as he might, he couldn’t swallow it down. He said nothing as he held Katie tighter.

*

Michael, Gregory, and Flint met Alex at his house the day he came back to Roswell. Michael sat on the back of his truck as Gregory and Flint leaned against Gregory’s car. Flint’s arms were crossed, Gregory was checking his phone for calls, and Michael was pretending not to be nervous about Alex as he’d been days ago. He tapped his finger on the trunk bench, remembering that morning days ago when he’d come to Alex’s doorstep at the crack of dawn to offer a trip to the airport, and found the airman had already gone.

He had no idea what to expect now. Isobel, Liz, and Maria had wanted to come see him, too, but Gregory had told them that it was better they not crowd him. Michael had gotten to come along for sheer insistence that he wouldn’t leave until he got to see Alex was safe and back in Roswell.

“You heard from him since he got off the plane?” Flint asked at some point.

“No,” was all Gregory said, and the brothers fell silent again. There seemed to be a weight that Michael couldn’t grasp, couldn’t touch and felt pushed down by anyway.

A familiar car rounding the corner into the driveway yanked Michael from his thoughts. He came down from the bench, putting it up as he kept his eyes on Alex behind the steering wheel. He couldn’t discern his expression, even as he parked, opened his door, and pulled out his suitcase.

“Hey,” Michael said, trying to keep his voice light. He was the only one to speak.

Alex managed a press of his lips, his eyes spacing out almost at once. Michael held out his hand for his suitcase, and Alex seemed to realize too late that it had been taken from him. He touched Michael’s arm in thanks.

Gregory and Flint seemed to know what to do better than Michael did, which apparently wasn’t much. Gregory patted Alex’s back with a sigh while Flint stayed behind them. Michael didn’t understand why until they’d gotten to the porch, Alex fishing for his keys, and his eyes suddenly fluttered. He swayed and Flint readily caught his arm, steadying him as if he’d been expecting it.

Michael opened his mouth in a gasp, but Flint shook his head minutely. _Don’t talk about it_ , he seemed to be saying. _He won’t be able to answer you._

Michael hesitated, fighting against every fiber of his being that longed to carry Alex inside himself so that he didn’t have to take another step on his own.

Flint released Alex as soon as he was on his feet again, and Alex opened the door and walked on inside as if nothing had happened. Michael stayed close and set the suitcase beside Alex’s couch as he took a seat. Flint went to open the windows, letting in the light, while Gregory said he would go make them some tea.

Michael sat down beside Alex, but Alex was staring into the distance, unseeing, his brows pinched slightly. Michael wanted to trace the path down the bridge of his nose, hoping it would ease whatever storm was raging in his head, but didn’t dare touch him.

Flint leaned against the wall, looking out the window as rustling sounded from the kitchen. When Michael risked speaking again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you hungry? I – I can go get you something.”

But Alex was already shaking his head, waking with a deep inhale. “No, no, thanks, Guerin.”

Flint tilted his head. “If you want him to stay here, Alex, I can go grab –”

“I don’t have much of an appetite,” Alex said, and went back to staring at nothing.

Flint nodded, unsurprised. “Yeah.”

Gregory came back a few minutes later, holding a tray of four mugs.

“Thanks,” Michael muttered as he handed him one. Alex hugged his with his hands.

“Hey, _hey_ ,” Flint said, setting his cup down and gently prying Alex’s fingers from around the steaming ceramic. “You’ll burn yourself, brother.”

“Hm? Oh.”

Gregory sat down in the armchair across from the couch. He rested his elbows on his thighs, tapping a finger against his own mug. A few minutes of silence, then –

“Alex,” he said, “do you want to . . . talk about –”

“No,” Alex said at once. “I don’t, I – I can’t.” He didn’t seem angry or upset. Just tired. There was a numbness to his expression that almost scared Michael.

He hesitated, then put a hand on Alex’s back. Then he dared to rub soothing circles, letting his eyes roam the airman, reassuring himself that Alex was okay. That was when he saw the line of dried blood on the back of his hand, his skin carved into and torn.

“ _Alex_ ,” he breathed, holding up his hand. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Alex muttered, his brows furrowed as if just now remembering that this injury was here. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Michael gaped. “You did this to _yourself_?”

Flint sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Leave it alone, Guerin.”

“Manes –”

“He’s fine,” Gregory said, his voice calm and intent. “It’s fine.”

Michael wanted to argue, to demand if they were crazy, if they weren’t seeing what Michael was seeing. But Alex just let his hand fall from Michael’s and patted his shoulder consolingly as if _he_ was the one that had lost a friend. And Michael’s words caught in his throat.

Alex’s head fell back. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as he heaved a deep breath. “I . . . uh . . .” he sniffled, “you guys should go. I know you have work, I don’t want to keep you.”

Michael frowned. “Alex . . .”

He thought Gregory and Flint would definitely argue, that they’d refuse to leave their brother like this, but Gregory asked, “And you? You sure you don’t want one of us to get you something from the Crashdown?”

Alex shook his head. “No, I’m just gonna . . . head to bed. I’m tired after the plane.”

Flint nodded. “Okay. You have our numbers.”

“I know.”

“What? _No_ ,” Michael said, moving closer to Alex on the couch. “I’m staying here.”

“Guerin,” Alex said. “I already told you, I’m –”

“You’re not _fine_ ,” Michael nearly yelled.

“ _Guerin_ –” Gregory tried.

“He carved into his own skin! I’m staying!”

“Okay,” Flint said, nudging his chin at the door. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

Alex watched, only half-there, as Michael stood and followed Flint, hesitant to leave his airman at all.

The second the door closed, Michael demanded, “He’s not okay.”

“No kidding,” Flint frowned, a lot quieter than Michael was. “His brother just died, how do you think he’s doing?”

He smirked humorlessly. “And you two just wanna leave him. Let him fend for himself. After all this time, you _still_ don’t care about what happens to him, do you?”

Flint tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Who do you think Alex is? Some defenseless kid? You do realize he’s an Air Force _Captain_ , right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Big tough military man, I _get_ it.”

“No,” Flint said easily. “You don’t.” He pressed a finger to Michael’s chest. “Don’t pretend you know what losing a brother-in-arms is like, _especially_ for someone like Alex. Someone like _us_. You have no idea the kind of weight that’s on our shoulders.”

Michael faltered. He licked his lips. “All the more reason,” he said, “to stay with him.”

Flint considered Michael, and began to chuckle. “Wow,” he said. “You really think that little of him?”

Michael frowned. “He _hurt_ himself.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Flint said, like that was supposed to be a reassurance. “You have no idea what he’s going through, but Greg and I do.”

“But this guy –”

“Yeah,” he sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. “Looks like this one was important. But he learned to live with it a long time ago. He’s not as broken as you think he is.”

Michael couldn’t let it go so easily. He remembered too well a conversation he and Alex had had months ago, in his bunker.

_“I need to believe in a reason to stay.”_ What if this was it? The last straw? What if Alex was on a countdown?

He swallowed. “I’m going back inside.”

Flint grabbed his arm. Michael glared at him, but he was unrelenting. “Listen to me. I know you care about him –”

“I _love_ him,” Michael said fiercely. Flint’s gaze didn’t waver. Always as prepared for battle as Alex.

When he spoke next, his words were quieter, but no less commanding. “Then let him breathe. I know Alex doesn’t always say what he means, but he means _this_. That captain in there is so much stronger than you think he is.”

Michael glared. “I know Alex is strong.”

To his surprise, Flint’s gaze slightly softened. He shook his head, as if Michael had completely missed the point. “That’s not what I just said, Guerin.”

*

Alex woke at twilight to find he’d fallen asleep on his couch, his clothes and prosthetic still on. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and rubbed his eyes. He looked around, the pale light behind the blinds casting the house into dark shadows.

He shouldn’t have, but Alex lied back down, staring at the ceiling with one hand covering the other on his stomach. He heard nothing but his own breathing, and then not even that.

_“Hey, Manes, have you ever been in love?”_

Alex closed his eyes against the memory, and immediately, his mind filled with images of himself and Scott laying on opposite sides of his bed, staring at another ceiling.

He forced himself up again, furiously scrubbing his face. He sat there a second longer, staring at nothing and thinking of a mess of things, from what time he had to wake up tomorrow to errands he had to calls and texts and emails he probably had to answer –

“Guerin,” he called faintly, and was answered with silence. His shoulders fell. _Oh yeah . . ._ He had asked them to leave. He knew it was for the best, there wasn’t really anything he thought he could say to any of them, but just saying Michael’s name brought him a slight peace that he couldn’t explain and which vanished as quickly as it came when Alex couldn’t find him. That had happened a lot in the past decade.

Scott’s smile came back to him. _“That the cowboy I should be jealous of?”_

Alex exhaled shakily, and pushed past the memory. He changed into his sweats, took his prosthetic off, and curled up in bed. He lay awake under the covers for several minutes that felt like hours, cramming a million other things into his mind to force out the one thought that he knew he couldn’t handle right now, and eventually, the darkness had mercy on him, and sleep took over.

*

Michael wanted to be useful. He’d spent the past two days wandering the junkyard, finding things to do that didn’t really need doing, if only to keep moving. He may have broken down several cars and driven Sanders crazy, but he was losing his mind.

At one point, he’d snapped, gotten in his truck, and made it halfway to Alex’s house before he came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road and hit his forehead against the steering wheel.

_“That captain in there is so much stronger than you think he is.”_

_“I know Alex is strong.”_

_“That’s not what I just said, Guerin.”_

Michael clenched his jaw. “What does that mean?” he growled through grit teeth. Michael knew who Alex was, _what_ he was. What did that matter?

Michael all but slammed the gearshift back again, and turned a corner to the Project Shepherd bunker instead. If he couldn’t take care of Alex, he could at least get through some of the files they had waiting there, look into a few leads so Alex didn’t feel like he had to himself.

The last thing Michael had been expecting when he’d pulled up to the hidden entrance was to find a familiar car parked there already. His heart leapt into his throat, and he almost stepped out of the truck without turning it off.

He wrenched the door open, and came down the stairs to find the white lights already on. Alex was at the far end of the bunker, typing at a computer. Michael stopped, staring.

Alex glanced up and gave him a quick, small smile. He was surrounded with open files, more than half of them marked. He shrugged a shoulder. “They gave me a week leave,” he said. “Figured I’d get something done.”

Michael didn’t know where to start. _Are you any better? Have you slept? Did you want me to stay?_

In the end, he managed a quirk of his lips and a light, “Don’t you military men ever rest?” He pulled up a chair next to Alex. “Oh, wait, don’t tell me. ‘I don’t know what rest means, Guerin. I can go for weeks, Guerin. I don’t actually need to be on leave, Guerin.’”

He smiled, but Alex did not seem amused, his eyes unmoving from the screen. “No,”  
he said simply. “I definitely need it. Way I’m feeling, I might just end up shooting anybody in a uniform.”

Michael faltered. Alex’s tone was light, but something in his eyes darkened, something _frightening_ that Michael wasn’t used to seeing on his airman’s face. He hesitated, then, because he wanted to do _something_ and didn’t know what, he reached out and covered Alex’s hand with his own.

Alex didn’t smile or look at Michael. Instead, he turned his hand over in Michael’s and gripped his fingers so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Michael tilted his head, trying to discern his thoughts. “Alex?”

He blinked. “Hm?”

“About . . . uh . . . that Mason guy –”

“Shh, _shhh_ ,” he shook his head, his eyes shut tight. “We don’t have to talk about that, I don’t want to talk about that.”

Michael stared. If he wasn’t so aware of Alex’s every move, of every inch of the airman’s skin that touched his own, he might’ve missed the way Alex’s fingers slightly trembled in his. But he was, so he didn’t.

He swallowed and nodded. He pulled Alex’s head in towards his with his other hand, and kissed his forehead.

“Okay, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

Alex’s grip did not loosen, his eyes did not open, his breathing did not calm for two whole minutes. Michael raised his other hand to rest between Alex’s shoulder blades, running up and down his spine, turning his nose into Alex’s hair and inhaling his scent.

Alex turned his head slightly so that Michael’s lips hovered above his. Michael’s eyes fell to Alex’s mouth, his own falling open. He could feel Alex’s hot breath against his bottom lip. His own breathing quickened as he thought about fitting his mouth against Alex’s, tasting his tongue, running a hand up his shirt and feeling his naked skin as he hadn’t gotten to do in over a year.

Michael wanted to be useful, and Alex always seemed able to breathe better when they were together. Maybe this would be useful. That, and Michael just really, _really_ wanted it.

Somehow, as he always did, Alex was able to read his mind. His dark, hooded eyes looked up at Michael through long lashes. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You want to help me feel better, Guerin?”

Michael’s eyes fluttered as he nodded, entranced. He leaned in, their mouths open. His breathing turned more and more ragged as the soft press of Alex’s lips against his own filled his gut with a fire. It had been too long since he’d gotten to touch.

Against Michael’s lips, Alex whispered, “Then help me,” and slowly closed their mouths in a kiss.

Michael’s eyes fell shut and a moan escaped his lips as he kissed Alex again, then again. He reached up, taking Alex’s face in his hands as he tilted his head, devouring his mouth.

“Baby,” he breathed against Alex’s lips between kisses, unable and unwilling to keep it in.

Alex whimpered at the nickname, and the sound spurred Michael on. Alex took Michael’s wrists, as if silently begging him not to leave. As if Michael would ever go anywhere.

“I,” Alex managed, “I want more. Touch me, Guerin.”

Michael looked at Alex then. His expression was filled with lust, his lips kiss-swollen, making Michael’s cock twitch in his jeans. He bit his lower lip, kissed Alex again, and nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, let’s get back to the airstream –”

But Alex was already shaking his head, moving out of his chair. He worked on the buttons of his jeans, and without any hesitation at all, pushed them and his underwear down, revealing his half-hard length. Michael’s mouth fell open, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, imagining the taste of Alex on his tongue.

“Now,” he panted. “I want you _now_.”

Alex climbed onto Michael’s lap, his naked, smooth, hairy skin against the hard fabric of Michael’s jeans. Michael was fully hard now as his hands slowly rose up Alex’s thighs, reveling in the touch of his warm skin and imagining his body against his own. Then Alex undid the first two buttons of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the ground. He was now completely naked as he straddled Michael, down to his toes. Michael was sure he would die.

Alex took Michael’s face in his hands, crashing their mouths together. He moaned against Michael’s lips as he grinded into his hardened, clothed cock.

“C’mon,” he breathed, his nimble fingers working on Michael’s belt. “Take them off. I want you to fuck me hard.”

“ _Alex_ ,” Michael groaned, and in one rough tug, managed to tear off his belt. He pushed his pants and underwear down, releasing himself. As soon as his cock rubbed against Alex’s, his eyes rolled back into his head and he all but screamed.

“I’m ready,” Alex said between hard, wet, open kisses. He ran a hand up Michael’s stomach, his chest, scratching through the trail of hair and digging his nails into Michael’s nipples. “Please, Guerin. Fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Michael breathed. “Yeah.” And he did as he’d fantasized doing for the past year. He aligned his cock to Alex’s hole with one hand, his other coming around to grab Alex’s ass, feeling his soft skin in his hands.

Alex choked on a scream as Michael took him in all the way, his hands gripping Michael’s face tightly against his neck where Michael got to bite and suck and lick and kiss as much as he wanted. When the airman was ready, Michael thrusted softly, not wanting to hurt him.

But Alex pressed his lips against Michael’s ear and commanded, “Harder, baby. I want to feel you for _days_.”

The thought was enough to erase all other from Michael’s mind, and he wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist, his other still gripping Alex’s cheek as he thrusted up hard, Alex coming down just as roughly, as _eagerly_.

Alex came a split second before Michael, and only through Michael’s sheer force of will that Alex enjoy it for as long as possible that he managed to keep himself from letting go in those first few seconds. They breathed heavily into the small space between them, and Michael leaned in, taking Alex’s lips in long, lazy kisses.

Alex was still running a hand through Michael’s curls, making his eyes flutter. When their breaths evened and Alex’s movements slowed, Michael looked up to find his airman staring at his chest, his brows pinched together slightly. His eyes were unfocused.

Michael felt a fear he’d almost forgotten about climb into his throat now. He swallowed it down, and put his fingers under Alex’s chin, lifting his gaze.

“Hey,” he whispered, moving his hand to cup Alex’s jaw, his thumb caressing his cheek. “Look at me, baby. Look at me, I’m right here.”

“Um,” Alex said and cleared his throat, closing his eyes as if trying to wake himself from his haze. His fists laid curled against Michael’s chest. He brought his head down, his forehead against Michael’s chin as he exhaled shakily. He looked around. “My clothes, I –”

“I’ve got ‘em,” Michael said immediately, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt. He’d wanted to stay with Alex like this, naked and holding each other, a little longer. Instead, he used his powers to bring Alex’s clothes right up to him.

But before he got dressed, Alex curled in against Michael, pressing his nose to Michael’s cheek, his lips brushing the cowboy’s jaw. Michael wrapped his arms around him, taking his chance to press light kisses to Alex’s bare shoulder.

Alex seemed to need a second to straighten his spine and brace himself before he grabbed his clothes from midair and pulled them on. He gently moved off Michael so that he could do the same, and when they were both dressed, Michael grabbed a file, not knowing what else to do. He kept glancing at Alex who was staring at his computer screen, his fist against his lips as he seemed too distracted to keep doing whatever he was doing.

Finally, Michael couldn’t take it anymore, and he said, “Tell me what to do.”

He knew he sounded desperate, his demand more of a plea, but he didn’t care. Because Alex wasn’t acting like Alex, and he was breaking, but he wasn’t breaking, and it was all very scary and not where Michael wanted his airman to be.

Alex frowned. “ _Do_?”

“To fix this,” he said, and winced at how stupid it sounded. But he couldn’t stop himself. “O-Or make it . . . I don’t know, easier. Tell me what I have to do, I’ll do anything, Alex.”

Alex’s look was unreadable as Michael held his gaze. Then something shifted, something turned sadder, and suddenly, it was Alex who held Michael. “I feel like there’s a hole in my chest, Michael. And it’ll never heal.” His lips quirked in a soft, helpless smile. “And there’s no fixing that.”

Michael watched, speechless and unable to do anything as Alex closed his laptop with a sigh, put his hands in his pockets, and made his way out of the bunker.

*

Alex finished scrubbing down his counter, and looked up, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. The kitchen, like his living room, bedroom, guestroom, and bathrooms, was spotless. The sky outside the window was pitch black, the wind still rustling through the empty branches and the yellow, dead grass. The world still turning, and not turning at all.

Alex’s phone on the table behind him buzzed, the screen lighting with new messages. Alex picked it up, scanning the texts. Flint said he would meet him at the Pony tomorrow night after they were both done at the base for drinks, Gregory said he’d be bringing over lunch so they could eat together, Clay left him a voicemail, telling him to call when he had the chance. It was Liz and Maria who asked if he was okay, if he needed them to come over right away.

Alex asked them not to. His brothers hadn’t asked if he was okay. He was grateful; he didn’t have an answer right now. He felt like he never might.

_“Miss me already, Manes?”_

Alex shut his eyes. The edges of his phone dug into his palms. The last phone call he and Scott had had, what had they said? He didn’t remember the exact conversation. Shouldn’t he have remembered?

But no. There _was_ a moment from their last meeting that stuck in his mind.

_“Start counting down, brother,”_ Scott had told him, a whispered eagerness in his voice. _“I’m coming to Roswell next. You just tell me who I need to beat up.”_

_“What’re you coming here for?”_ Alex had said. _“I’ll come see you wherever you want. Just pick anywhere else.”_

_“No,”_ Scott had said more softly. _“No more running, Manes.”_

“A drive,” Alex said, hoping the sound of a voice, even if it was his own, would keep the memories at bay. “I need a drive.”

The drive wasn’t helping. Alex had the window open, the icy wind biting his face and burning his eyes. Alex’s hands were clenched painfully tight around the steering wheel, his fingers numb with cold. His jaw was clenched, that small trickling in his chest turned to painful hammering now.

Scott’s letters. _I’ll never get them again._ His secret phone calls. _That phone will never ring now._ And he had been planning to come to Roswell. _I should’ve brought him sooner. All the days on leave, I should’ve brought him. Roswell would’ve been better with him here._

“I should’ve brought him,” Alex said, his words breaking in his own ears.

Alex clenched his jaw, and pressed harder on the gas pedal. Scott would never see Roswell now, would never meet his friends, or know Michael. Places Alex could’ve taken him, the stars he could’ve shown him. They were brighter in Roswell than anywhere else in the world. And now his brother would never see them.

Headlights. Alex saw a pair of headlights far ahead, the large truck driving, for some reason, on the wrong lane. Or was Alex on the wrong one? It didn’t matter. He didn’t move. The gas pedal was on the floor of the car now.

As the truck neared, the headlights growing larger, _brighter_ , the thought kept coming to Alex; if he could see Scott again, if all the pain and loss would finally end, it would all be okay. That was what he wanted, right? To stop the pain?

_BEEP BEEEEEEP!_

_“No more running, Manes.”_

Alex gasped, the realization of what he was doing hitting him like an explosion, and he wrenched the steering wheel aside at the last second. The car slowly came to a stop as the angry trucker’s honks faded into the distance behind him.

Alex’s trembling hands fell off the steering wheel as he slumped in his seat. Tears streamed down his face, his own ragged breathing like thunder in his ears in the silence around him.

He didn’t want to do this alone. Not this time. His hands still shaking, Alex turned the ignition back on.

*

Michael couldn’t sleep. He’d been tossing in his bed the past several hours before he’d given up on the idea of resting, and he went down to his bunker to tinker instead. He kept running into dead ends there, too.

When he’d tried and failed to solve a calculated projection for the eighth time, he’d had enough. His mind was flooded with thoughts of Alex, his dark eyes, his quiet words, his naked body and the way he’d curled against Michael, eager to stay close.

Michael let the pen fall from his hands. He needed to go to the Pony. Maybe he could get really drunk and forget that, somewhere in his house, Alex was probably locking himself out of his own mind, breaking apart and unwilling to let anyone near him. Because that was what it meant to be a military captain, right? Weather the storm alone? Prove that you were tougher than everyone else? Alex just didn’t need anybody because he’d been through so much worse, was that it?

The thought had him shaking. He pulled his shirt over his head as soon as he’d made it up the ladder. He thought he’d throw any somewhat clean clothes on and go drown his sorrows in a glass . . . then a car pulled up into the junkyard.

The low beams dimmed as the driver’s door opened. It was Alex. The lights turned off, and the moonlight revealed his tear-streaked face, his lower lip trembling, his chest rising and falling as if he could barely breathe. And Michael could see and think of nothing and no one else.

A sob escaped Alex’s lips, and Michael exhaled sharply before running to him. They met in the middle, Alex’s arms around Michael’s shoulders as he cried into the crook of his neck. Michael held him tightly enough that it should’ve hurt, but he didn’t care. He brought a hand up Alex’s neck to rest in the soft strands of his hair, his body trembling. Michael held him tighter.

“I’m right here,” Michael whispered into his neck. “I’m right here, baby.”

Alex wept as Michael had never heard before, his nails clawing into Michael’s back. Michael closed his eyes, reveling in the sting. Because it meant Alex was here, with him, safe and far away from what had taken his brother-in-arms.

“I – I want to see him,” Alex cried. “Just one more time, I want to see him.”

“Shh,” Michael said, rubbing his back soothingly. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Alex buried his face against Michael’s skin, the sounds of his cries in the dark, silent night shattering Michael’s heart, one crack at a time.

In seconds, Michael had the bonfire started. Long after Alex had turned silent, Michael swaying them left and right, he led the airman to a chair and let him soak in the flames. He had his elbows rested on his thighs when Michael came back out, after hurriedly shoving a shirt on, and handed him a bottle.

Alex took it with a murmur of thanks and downed half of it in one gulp. Michael pulled his chair closer and sat down next to him. And he waited.

After a long while of staring into the fire, the gold and orange flames reflected in his dark eyes, Alex quietly said, “I never know what to say. When this happens.” He shook his head. “It’s a repeat, but none of them are the same. You know? Scott wasn’t . . .” he faltered, and closed his eyes, exhaling shakily.

His eyes glistened and he wiped the back of his hand against his nose before he went on, “They’re not lumped in together, you know? I remember each of their faces, I remember _everything_. And I _felt_ it, I – I felt it coming. I know you don’t think it’s possible, but I did. Because he was _part_ of me, I felt it.”

Michael swallowed. “He sounded special.”

Alex’s eyes filled with tears that fell before he could stop them. “He was so good. So brave.” He huffed a sad chuckle. “You would’ve liked him. I mean –” another sniffle “—he hit on me all the time, so I don’t think you would’ve _loved_ him, but . . . you would’ve _really_ liked him, Guerin.” He shook his head. “I should’ve introduced you, I should’ve done so much more for him.”

Michael reached over, gripping Alex’s forearm. “Hey. That’s not on you.”

Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, it is, Guerin. You live with that. Knowing that your family’s on a time limit that’s usually a lot shorter than most people’s. And when it comes, all you can think of is the time you wasted. You don’t know what the good side is anymore, and eventually, they all become enemies because they all kept you apart.”

He huffed, ducking his head as another tear fell. “It’s . . .”

“A lot of weight to carry,” Michael finished, remembering Flint’s words. How much Alex had on his shoulders . . .

And suddenly, as Michael watched this beautiful man, carrying himself only by the memories of the people that had become a part of his heart, by the love he had for this family he’d created for himself, he realized how far apart he and Alex actually were.

He leaned in as a tear rolled down Alex’s cheek, as he was too weary to wipe it away. Michael kissed it, and Alex looked up.

“You’re so . . . grown up,” he whispered. “Tell me what to do. Please, Alex, tell me what to do.” _Tell me what to do to keep you._

Alex’s considered him. Then he tugged at Michael’s arm until Michael was against him. Alex rested his head against his shoulder. “Just let me touch you,” he breathed, “for a little longer.”

Michael wrapped Alex in his arms and held him tightly, one hand going up and down his arm, his other hand sliding into his hair. Alex’s hand came up Michael’s chest, as if eager to feel under his shirt, to have that skin-on-skin contact that reassured them like little else did.

“Let me keep you,” Michael whispered into Alex’s hair.

Alex turned his face into Michael’s shoulder. His grip tightened on the cowboy’s body, and for a second, Michael thought he would say yes. Then –

“I should get back.”

Michael’s face fell. “I – I take it back,” he said quickly, “I just want you to stay the night –”

But Alex kissed his jaw softly, then the corner of his mouth, then his lips, effectively silencing him.

When he pulled back, he was cupping Michael’s cheek. “I have work tomorrow,” he said. “All my things are back at the house. Okay?”

Michael nodded, and kissed Alex one more time before letting him up. “I’ll drive you,” he said.

Alex managed a smile. “My car’s here.”

“Then we’ll go in yours.”

“Then you’ll be stuck with me.”

“Yes, please,” Michael breathed, taking hold of Alex’s waist again.

Alex huffed a laugh which quickly turned to a cry. He turned away, covering his face with one hand. When he looked up again, his smile was weak and his eyes were rimmed red.

“I – uh – think I just need to be alone.”

Michael wished he could be angry, frustrated. But instead, all he felt was fear. Alex didn’t seem stubborn to him anymore, just . . . far away. Why? What had changed?

“Hey,” Alex said softly, and pulled him in for another kiss. “I’ll be back. I need you, too.”

Michael swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he whispered. _But I have no idea how to help you. I don’t even think I know who you are._

“Alex, I . . .” _I love you._ He’d almost said it. He’d _wanted_ to. But Alex was heartbroken and lost, and that wasn’t what he needed to hear right now. Instead, Michael pulled Alex in one more time, kissing him hungrily.

“I’d do anything for you,” he panted against his lips when they pulled apart again.

Alex nodded, his forehead pressed against Michael’s, and he roughly wiped at his eyes with his forearm before he turned to leave. Michael watched him walk away, already freezing at the loss of his touch. What was wrong with him? What was it that felt so off this time?

_“Because he was part of me, I felt it.”_

Was that what this was? No, it was different. Michael couldn’t begin to list the ways, but it was _different_. Alex gave him a soft smile before he climbed into the driver’s seat and disappeared.

The man that made music and smiled blushingly whenever Michael kissed him, and the man that held the world on his shoulders, always one crack away from shattering completely. They’d always been the same to Michael, but something had changed now.

He had once confessed that he couldn’t get used to seeing Alex in his uniform. At the time, he’d played it off as a joke, though something in his heart had stung at the image. And he’d never understood why. Now he did.

“He’s mine,” he said before he could help himself. The silence of the night threatened to engulf him, to keep him quiet. Alex, after all, belonged to a different world. He had a life and identity outside of Roswell, outside of Project Shepherd and music and aliens that had no place for a temperamental, telekinetic cowboy.

Michael didn’t care. He didn’t know where he fit in with all of this, and the painful thudding of his heart served to betray his true fears of never being allowed to belong to the airman, but he _didn’t care_.

“He’s mine,” he kept repeating, hoping that the words would be enough to make it real. “Alex belongs with _me_. He’s mine.”


	2. Protector

Michael hadn’t seen Alex in over a week. Not for any particular reason, but Alex had been at the base from before dawn to after midnight, taking on extra work training new recruits and going over drills and security procedures with his team. A week wasn’t the longest they’d ever been apart either.

But that had been then, and this was now, and Alex had been crying into Michael’s shoulder not that long ago, so in a week’s time, Michael was rounding the corner into Alex’s driveway. It was late at night, and Alex’s car was there, so Michael knew he couldn’t have been at work.

He came up to the front door, and knocked. No one answered. He knocked again. Still no response. Michael looked over his shoulder at Alex’s car again, making sure it was actually _Alex’s_. Was he still at the base? Had someone else picked him up?

Michael didn’t like the idea of Alex depending on somebody other than him, especially now. Then a thought occurred. What if Alex was here, but something was wrong and that was why he couldn’t come to the door? What if he was passed out on the kitchen floor, or lying sick in his living room with no one to hear him? Not wanting to leave without making sure his airman was okay, Michael used his powers to undo the lock, and the door swung open into a dark hallway.

“Alex?” Michael called from the doorway. He went in, the moonlight shining through the blinds and casting long lines of blue light against the furniture.

Michael heard a faint rustling, and looked towards the corridor. He came in slowly, the bedroom door already open ajar, a warm yellow light from the inside glowing out into the hall. He pushed it open and found Alex sitting against his headboard, a book on his knees.

Michael released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You’re here.”

“Yep,” he said casually, turning the page.

“Why didn’t you answer?”

The corner of his lips quirked. “Because I’m tired and I knew you’d let yourself in.”

Michael fidgeted where he stood. “Are you mad?”

Alex looked at him and smiled in earnest, and Michael felt a warmth spread throughout his chest. He noticed something in Alex’s calm demeanor that he’d never really considered too much before. Someone had come into his house, there was no guarantee it had been Michael, yet he had been completely unfazed. He had all the surety of a man who could defend himself if he needed to, even with his prosthetic against the opposite wall.

It was hot. But there was something else behind Michael’s ribs that made it scary. Why was it scary? Alex was still Alex, it wasn’t like he’d changed. Right?

Alex leaned over, and threw back the blanket on the right side of the bed. A silent invitation that Michael was all too happy to take. He threw off his boots and pulled his shirt over his head.

“The sweats are in there,” Alex said, amused, as Michael undid his belt.

Michael slept naked. Alex knew he did. But something in his tone said it was more for his own sake that Michael wear his clothes. And, Michael had to admit, the idea of sharing Alex’s clothes had him ready to melt right then and there. He grabbed a pair from the drawer and pulled them on, then he all but jumped into bed.

Alex laughed as Michael wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in against him. Michael threw a leg over both of his and nuzzled his temple, inhaling and exhaling against his airman like he needed him to breathe. Sometimes, Michael thought he actually did.

When he had pulled Alex in as much as possible, touching as much of him as he could, he settled with a deep breath.

“Hi,” he whispered against his ear.

Alex turned his head, nuzzling Michael’s nose before kissing him. It was a quick, chaste press of lips against lips, but it took over every muscle in his body.

“Hey.”

Michael followed Alex’s lips with his own. “Do that again.”

Alex chuckled low in his throat, brought a hand into Michael’s curls, and pulled him in. This time, Alex opened his mouth against Michael’s, and Michael moaned as he felt the slide of the airman’s tongue against his. Michael thought Alex would reach down his chest, would touch him between his legs, would urge him to touch him again. But Alex just kept kissing him, like it was all he needed. The thought had Michael nearly straddling him.

In the end, when they pulled back to breathe, Michael rested his head on Alex’s shoulder. They sat there like that for several long minutes, Michael taking in Alex as much as he was able while Alex read. Then –

“I missed you,” he confessed into the quiet room. Alex said nothing a moment, and Michael worried that he may have crossed some line. Kissing and touching each other had always been easier for them than talking. Had he said too much?

But Alex sighed and rested his head against Michael’s, his book lay forgotten. “I missed you, too.”

Michael curled in deeper against him, holding his hand in both of his. He was hesitant to ask, but being away from Alex for so long left him without filter.

“How are you – uh . . .”

“Doing?” Alex finished. Michael nodded, and felt Alex’s chest rise and fall with a deep breath. “I’m okay.”

“Is that why you’re overworking yourself?”

He scoffed. “You worried about me?”

Michael put his chin on Alex’s shoulder, looking up at him. “Every day.”

Alex shook his head as if he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Michael felt a traitorous heat rise to his cheeks.

“You know I don’t need you to do that, right?” he said, and Michael’s smirk faltered. “I know what I’m doing.”

A lump formed in Michael’s throat. He swallowed slowly. Why? Why did words that used to reassure him before make him anxious now? Alex was tough, he’d always known that. He’d never been one to ask for help. To hear it again now shouldn’t have made Michael want to tighten his grip on his waist, to kiss his temple, to reassure himself that Alex was here and in his arms, all his.

“I know that,” he said with a lightness he didn’t feel. “But I still worry.”

Alex bit his lower lip as Michael moved closer, his eyes falling to Alex’s lips.

“Then let me ease some of it,” Alex breathed, putting his book on the nightstand as his other hand came down Michael’s naked chest.

His eyes fluttered as he laid down in bed, Alex following him. And still, Michael kept a tight hold on his waist, keeping their bodies pressed together.

He needed to feel him. He needed to _keep_ feeling him.

“You want that, right?” Alex said, taking Michael’s other hand and guiding it to his own thigh. “To touch me?”

“I want to make you feel good,” he said before he could stop the words. At the way Alex’s eyes darkened, he couldn’t find it in him to regret any of it.

Alex’s fingers on his cheek, surprisingly, were gentle. “Being with you makes me feel good.”

Michael’s heart climbed into his throat. He needed Alex closer. He needed to stop this distance he kept feeling between them. Alex was an Air Force Captain, but so what? He’d been an Air Force Captain for the past year and a half. He was an Air Force Captain when Michael had kissed him at the reunion and tasted him all those nights at the airstream and hugged him when he’d been kidnapped. And then . . . when he’d busted himself out.

Because he could do that. Because he’d been trained to do that. With people Michael didn’t know and in a life Michael wasn’t part of.

Michael reached up with the hand that had been on Alex’s thigh and cupped the airman’s jaw. Alex stilled, his brows pinched, confused.

“Let me hold you.” It wasn’t something Michael Guerin _ever_ said, and maybe if it was the middle of the day, he would’ve known to keep it in. But he was in Alex’s bed, underneath the man he loved, his vanilla scent engulfing him, his warm body pressed against him, and only the truth seemed willing to leave him now.

Alex’s eyes softened, and he covered Michael’s hand on his jaw with his own. He turned into his touch, kissing his palm. “Okay,” he said.

He lowered himself down so that he and Michael were lying on their sides, and Michael wrapped him in his arms, pulling him in against him. Alex’s fists were curled against his chest, his index finger mindlessly playing with Michael’s nipple and making him moan.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he grumbled, and negated that tone immediately by pulling Alex so close that nothing could’ve fit between their bodies.

Alex laughed, cuddling into the crook of Michael’s neck. “I love touching you.”

Michael kissed his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. Michael’s eyes closed despite himself as the relief of having Alex in his arms, warm and safe, turned to heavy exhaustion.

Alex cupped his face and kissed his cheek, the corner of his lips, his lips. Michael pulled him in unbearably close.

“Sleep, baby,” Alex whispered, and Michael’s eyes shut. “I’m right here.”

_He’s right here_ , Michael silently repeated, trying not to think of the Alex that had a team whose lives depended on him. The Alex who’d cracked through the toughest coding like it was nothing. The Alex that had been turned from a teenager who wore black clothes and eyeliner to a man who had suffered the loss of a limb and lives in his arms.

As sleep came, the words pushed themselves past Michael’s lips before he could stop them. “I love you.”

He didn’t hear Alex’s response, but he felt the soft press of his airman’s lips against his forehead, and he felt himself at ease.

*

Alex couldn’t sleep. Michael’s lips were pursed against the pillow, his curls falling over his brow. He reached up and gently brushed a strand back, and leaned in. He kissed his forehead, the corner of his lips quirking up as Michael moaned in his sleep and tightened his grip on him.

“I’m right here,” he whispered into the shell of Michael’s ear before kissing the sensitive skin. He didn’t know how much longer he would be allowed this. He wanted to believe that he and Michael would never be apart again, but the years had proven themselves cruel and cold. There was always something to tear them apart, to keep them separated.

And it wasn’t like Alex had always been sure of Michael’s love for him, like the distance never mattered because they were part of each other. It wasn’t like it had been with Scott . . .

Alex’s thoughts came to a standstill, and he stared at Michael a few moments longer, unseeing, before he carefully pushed himself out of bed. When he’d gotten his crutches and managed to stand, he tugged the blanket up to Michael’s chin, keeping him warm. With a gentle touch to his shoulder, Alex limped around the bed and out the room.

He switched the white light in his kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker, knowing sleep would not visit him tonight. He sat at the counter and pulled his laptop closer. As he’d expected, he had several emails from work or his team.

Alex rubbed his face with a weary sigh. He looked over his shoulder into the corridor where his favorite person in the world was sleeping soundly in his bed, and he managed a small smile, a breath of fresh air to his suffocated heart.

In the back of his mind, he remembered the way Scott would look at him whenever he’d thoughtlessly bring Michael up.

_“What?”_ Alex would demand. _“Why are you smiling?”_

_“You’re cute when you blush, Manes.”_

_“I don’t blush.”_

_“I want to meet him. This cowboy you like so much. I really want to meet him.”_

Alex’s eyes burned, a cry making its way up his throat. Alex ducked his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as tears rose to the surface and his shoulders scrunched. A minute of heavy breathing. Two.

He looked up, wiping the single escaped tear that had made it halfway down his cheek. He sniffled as he stretched his arms over his head.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Back to work.”

*

When Michael woke up, it wasn’t the unfamiliar surroundings that left a pinch of dread in his chest. He’d needed a second to remember where he was and what had happened last night, but it was opening his eyes to an empty side of the bed, to his empty arms where a sleeping Alex should’ve been.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. Outside the window, the sky had turned to watered ink. Michael swung his legs off the bed, nearly stumbling with the sheet around him, and found Alex sitting at his kitchen counter, his chin rested on his palm as his other hand typed something out on his computer.

He was fast, meticulous, as if he’d trained in typing without even looking at his keyboard. Which, Michael thought, he literally was. There was an empty cup of coffee next to him, his coffeemaker already bubbling and beeping, ready to refill. Without a glance at Michael, Alex picked up his cup and stretched back to put it under the nozzle.

As a steaming stream of what smelled like chocolate coffee poured down, Alex said, “You’re up early.”

“Uh, hi,” Michael said at the same time that Alex’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and typed out a response. In a second, Michael heard the _whoosh_ of a message sent, and Alex smiled at him.

“Coffee?”

“S-Sure.”

Alex reached around, grabbed one of the empty mugs that sat on the counter for easy reach, and placed it under the coffeemaker when his own was filled.

Michael came up hesitantly to him, looking over his computer screen. There were at least seven tabs open. One for emails, satellite maps with heat signatures, a few on calculation theories, some following the weather patterns in New Mexico for the next few days. And tabs that Michael was pretty sure were not supposed to be open or available to a US airman.

And then there was the carving in his left hand, the one he’d made himself. The wound that was still healing, but bright enough to taunt Michael.

_This is how you fail_ , it seemed to be saying. _This is how much he hurts._

He sat down on the stool closest to Alex, pressing his face into the airman’s shoulder. It was too much to look at, too much to think about at the crack of dawn. He felt the press of Alex’s lips in his curls as he set his mug in front of him.

“Someone’s tired,” Alex whispered, and Michael’s eyes fluttered at his deep voice.

“Not as tired as you must be,” he said, regaining some of his senses as he sat up. He looked at the time on Alex’s phone, still buzzing with messages and calls and emails. Had he _always_ been that busy? Why was Michael just now noticing?

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Couldn’t,” he shrugged a shoulder. “You want to get breakfast at the Crashdown?”

Michael searched his face for any exhaustion. There was plenty of it. But he didn’t get the feeling that Alex was hiding anything from him. He really hadn’t been able to sleep, so he’d come here to do more work.

“You know,” he said slowly, “now that I think about it, I can’t remember _ever_ seeing you sleep.”

“Yeah,” Alex scoffed. “Doesn’t come easily. So.” He sniffled, closing his laptop. “Breakfast?”

“Absolutely,” Michael said, but his smile fell away as Alex turned to charge his computer. Was this Alex’s life? Work was one thing, but the responsibilities he had, the resignation that sleep was a luxury he often couldn’t afford and being okay with that, the foreign systems and complex codes and constant danger he was in for being part of any of it.

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly.

“Hm?” Alex looked up.

Michael blushed. He should’ve pretended he hadn’t said anything, or played the apology off as a joke, but Alex’s dark eyes pierced his own and he felt like lying now, whether Alex knew it or not, would be unfair to everything he’d done for them.

So he took a breath, and said, “I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t think about what helping us might do to you. All the extra work, all the risk –”

“ _Guerin_ –”

“You’re the most important person in the world to me,” he went on, because if he paused, he might realize what he was saying and stop. And this was too important to stop. “And if anything happened to you –”

“Stop freaking yourself out.”

“I’ll burn this whole planet down before I let anyone lay another finger on you.”

Alex took his face in his hands. “ _Stop it_.” Despite the command in his tone, his smile was soft, his eyes loving. “You stupid, beautiful cowboy. This stuff doesn’t scare me. All the aliens and the Project Shepherd crap and the Air Force work – I’m not worried about _any_ of it. The only thing I care about is _you_. If this keeps you safe, you and Isobel and Max, it’s worth it. I’ve told you before, haven’t I? I _will_ protect you.”

Michael couldn’t look away. He thought of the boy who’d cried as his father strangled him, who’d clawed desperately at his hands, who’d screamed when Michael was first hurt.

Michael clenched his jaw. “But _I’m_ supposed to protect _you_. I’ve always been supposed to protect you.”

Alex shook his head, smiling as if he couldn’t believe how Michael had missed the obvious. He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, and he whispered, “You do.”

Michael opened his mouth to argue again, something in his chest still bothering him, keeping him afraid. But then Alex closed the distance between them, taking Michael’s lips in his own. Michael gasped, startled, but he quickly melted against him.

He’d just woken up and he hadn’t brushed his teeth, but Alex tilted his head, deepening the kiss as if eager to taste more of him. Michael felt Alex’s hand come down his chest, settling in his chest hair, right over his heart.

Michael put a hand on Alex’s thigh, pulling him closer, and Alex moaned against his lips. Michael wanted to reach a hand under his shirt, or down his sweats. He wanted to grab whatever of Alex he could, to kiss every inch of him, to feel him like he had that day in the bunker. When Alex, eager and naked and moaning, had sat on his lap and sunk down on him.

But then Alex’s phone buzzed, and he dropped his forehead onto Michael’s shoulder with a groan. He sat up, and Michael followed, kissing his neck.

Alex bit his lip, one hand raking through Michael’s curls as he answered a text from one of his brothers. His finger hovered over the keyboard uselessly for a second as he moaned, and Michael smirked against his skin, smug at the reaction. Alex soon managed to send in his response, and grabbed a fistful of Michael’s curls, pulling his head back enough to look him down.

He panted against Michael’s lips, his eyes dark. “You’re going to pay for that one.”

Michael’s grin widened, and he slipped his hands under Alex’s shirt like he’d wanted to do. This was his airman, his _Alex_. This was the man he loved, the one with command but fell apart under Michael’s touch.

“I’m all yours, baby.”

*

Alex sat curled against the bookstore window, the sun shining through making the glass warm to the touch. His eyes ran over the small font, the purple cushion behind him a comfort. His mind kept wandering, thinking about the morning he and Michael had spent in bed, the breakfast they’d had together. And Michael’s confession last night.

_“I love you.”_ He shut his eyes, letting his head fall against the glass. Had he meant it? Or had he just been half-delirious with exhaustion? And what if he _had_ meant to say it?

“Alex?”

Alex looked up. Standing between the cramped bookshelves was Max Evans, a thick paperback in his hands.

Alex smiled, pulling his knees in to his chest to make room for Max on the small nook. “Hey.”

Max sat down, a brow raised. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He settled back against the cushion. “I like this place,” he said. “It’s quiet.”

“Yeah,” Max nodded, looking around. “It’s a whole other world. Admittedly, not one I ever thought you and I would find each other in.”

“Then,” Alex said, “I guess we have more in common than we thought we did.”

He nodded. A pause. “Is this weird to you?”

“Little bit,” he confessed, and he and Max both grinned. “But not bad.”

“No,” he agreed, settling back against the glass with a sigh. “Michael told me he was with you all morning.”

Alex hummed, a blush rising to his cheeks at the thought of what they’d done. “We . . . uh . . .”

Max, to his relief, held up a hand. “I really don’t need to hear the details, Manes.”

He nodded, pressing his lips together. He glanced up at Max as he read, the way his dark hair curled back and his lips pursed, as if trying to think of something to say. Alex knew he and Michael weren’t related, but it amazed him sometimes just how much the cowboy was like his siblings.

“You – uh – you come here often?” Max asked suddenly, and Alex realized he was staring. He looked down just as Max chuckled. “And I mean that in a total non-flirting way.”

Alex huffed a laugh. “Sometimes,” he said. “When things are a little too . . .”

“Roswell?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “What about you?”

“It’s my favorite place in town.” He held up his novel. “I usually come to stock up.”

Alex raised a brow at the cover. “Jane Austen? Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Oh?” he tilted his head to get a better look at Alex’s book. “And what’re _you_ reading?” Alex showed him, and he laughed. “ _Mozart: A Life._ Sounds about right.”

“It’s interesting!” he chuckled. “A guy who’d made a fortune as a musical genius and lost it, died at an early age, but . . . no one remembers him for that. He’s remembered for the best parts of himself. All the good he did. Not everyone’s that lucky.”

Alex lost himself to his thoughts. Would the world remember Scott for the good man he’d been? Or would he forever be remembered as a capable captain?

Max looked at him like he could suddenly read his mind. “I don’t know,” he said. “There’ve always been people who remembered his mistakes. The things he’d gotten wrong. Even people who know he’s famous, but not ever really what he was famous _for_. For his brain, his passion, his love for what he was creating.”

Alex held the book closer to his chest. “That’s so sad.”

Max smiled softly, and leaned in. His dark eyes glimmered in the sunlight shining through, the brown turned to gold. “But I think the people who matter will always remember him for the right reasons. Don’t you?”

Alex stared, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah.”

“Having someone’s life in your hands,” Max said after a while, “it’s . . . a big burden. I know that it feels like you’ve failed to save someone you’d sworn you’d protect – but, I mean, not to the extent that you do, obviously –”

“What did you do?” Alex cut him off, the question escaping before he could help it. Because he could tell. Max _did_ get it, probably better than anybody else in this town would’ve. He was a protector, too, he knew what it was like.

“To make it hurt less,” Alex said. “When you felt like you’d failed Isobel and Michael? When a part of you knew it wasn’t true, but it . . .”

“Didn’t make it hurt any less?” Max finished, and Alex nodded. He shrugged a helpless shoulder. “Keep living. Keep trying. You and I . . . I think we’ve both lived through enough heartache to know that . . . sometimes, things just hurt. And you learn to live with it. Until one day, it starts to hurt a little less.”

Alex smiled, his head slowly coming to rest on the glass. “You’re a good man, Max Evans.”

Max smiled shyly, like he wasn’t used to hearing that small bit of praise. “So are you,” he said. He pursed his lips, considering something. Then he turned his body to face Alex’s. “And so is Michael. I know you might think he doesn’t get it, Alex, but . . . he just wants to be the one to protect you. I think he’s afraid that if you don’t need him, then he won’t have a place in your life.”

Alex frowned. “I know,” he said. “I can tell something’s wrong. But I don’t know how to reassure him.”

Max seemed to think about it, then – “Love him? Like you always do. He’ll see you’re the same Alex, and he’ll know better than to let you leave this time.”

Alex looked down, a warmth spreading to his cheeks and tips of his ears. So Max knew that he’d never wanted to leave Michael.

“You know, we really do have a lot more in common than I thought we did.”

Max laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They spent another hour reading silently beside one another as the setting sun turned the bookshelves to gold, the sky filled with purple and pink and orange clouds, the desert plain whispering the words, _“Just another minute to hide.”_

Max eventually broke the peaceful silence, his words as soft as the winds outside. “I should’ve told you this sooner,” he said, “but I’m really sorry about your brother, Alex.”

Alex’s eyes shut, the warmth of the glass keeping the chill in his spine away. Max understood. His words were true.

“Thank you.”

“Mom’s going over to a friend’s today,” Katie said. “She even had breakfast.”

“That’s good,” Alex said into the phone as he sat on the counter, his leg swinging. The soup on the stove ahead of him bubbled. “She needs to get out of the house.”

“Yeah,” Katie said, “it’ll do her some good.”

“And you?” he asked. “Any plans today?”

She hummed. “Going to the gym. Alyssa insisted. I don’t know, I thought it might help, even if just for an hour.”

“One step at a time,” he said.

Katie didn’t answer for a bit. Alex heard a sniffle and imagined her swallowing her sobs. “One step at a time,” she agreed, and groaned. “It’s been two weeks, but it feels like it’s been two days.”

Alex scoffed lightly, falling back to lay on the counter. “Feels like it’s been two minutes,” he muttered. “But hey, you guys are still coming to Roswell next month, right? I have my guestroom all ready for you.”

She chuckled. “Yeah. Mom’s really happy about it. She actually smiles every time I bring it up, so, you know, thanks.”

_Thank_ you _,_ Alex wanted to say. _If I can’t bring Scott here, I can at least do this._

“I can’t wait to see you,” he said. “I’m going to make sure you have Scott’s favorite diner order.”

Katie groaned. “Gross. I’m _not_ having that milkshake and fries crap.”

“It was your brother’s idea!”

“My brother was disgusting!” she said. Alex didn’t mention that she’d talked about him in past tense. The short silence that followed told him that she’d noticed. _It’s a good thing_ , he had to keep reminding himself. _We have to move on._

There was a knock at the door, and Alex looked up. “Hey,” he said, “I have to go. Talk to you later?”

“Sure,” she said. “I think I hear Alyssa anyway.”

“Okay,” Alex said, turning off the stove. “Have fun at the gym.”

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not,” she scoffed, and Alex laughed as they ended the call.

He opened the door, his smile widening at the sight of Michael.

“Hey!” he said.

“Hi.”

Alex noticed he was tense where he stood. Before he could ask what was wrong, Michael leaned in and kissed his cheek.

Alex slowly reached up and touched the spot with his fingers. “Um . . .”

Michael’s eyes widened slightly, panicked, as if he thought Alex was going to snap at him for the kiss. Eager to wipe that look off his face, Alex kissed his cheek, too, and the corner of his lips, and pressed another chaste kiss to his mouth.

He stood back with a clear of his throat, his face burning. It was stupid, they’d done so much more than an innocent kiss like that, so why was his heart hammering?

“C-Come in,” he said. “I made soup.”

“Oh,” he nodded, right at Alex’s heels. When they got to the kitchen, Michael leaned over, his eyes narrowed. “Were you crying?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” he sniffled, wiping his eyes dry. “I was on the phone with Katie – uh – Scott’s sister.”

Michael’s shoulders fell. He sat down at the counter. “Yeah? You guys are close?”

Alex began ladling the soup into two bowls. He smiled at the memory. “Whenever we used to go on leave, Scott would take me to Nashville with him. The first time I met his family, they thought we were dating. Katie and Ashley – his mom – had been basically trying to set us up since.”

Michael didn’t respond.

“But they’re coming to Roswell in February, so you’ll get to meet them then,” he said, smiling over his shoulder. But Michael wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at the ground, his brows furrowed.

Alex knew better than to pick his brain while he was still thinking things over. The best he could do was place a bowl and spoon in front of him, peck his temple, and return to the stove.

Eventually, and as Alex hoped he would, Michael asked, “Did you ever come back to Roswell on any of your leaves?”

“Did you ever get a call from me?” he answered.

Michael looked up. “Not once?” Alex shook his head. “Why not?”

“Honestly? Nobody ever asked me to.” He sighed, taking the seat next to his cowboy. “And I didn’t want to come back just to be reminded that I wasn’t wanted.”

Michael looked down at his bowl. “So you went with Scott.”

His expression was unreadable, and it made Alex uneasy. He so rarely couldn’t tell what Michael was thinking.

“Guerin –”

“Can I kiss you?”

Alex was startled, but Michael had turned to face him, their knees bumping together. Michael’s hands were curled to fists on his jeans, as if barely refraining from reaching out and touching.

Alex thought about what Max had told him a week ago, that Michael felt like he needed to protect him. But Alex could protect him, too.

He leaned in, pushing a hand into Michael’s curls. “When have you ever needed permission?”

Michael closed the distance between them and kissed Alex hard. Alex gasped when Michael picked him up and pulled him onto his lap, his arms going instinctively around Michael’s shoulders.

“Baby,” Alex breathed before Michael took his bottom lip in his teeth, kissing him hungrily. He stuck a hand down Alex’s sweats, and Alex moaned, buckling into Michael’s clothed cock.

Michael’s touch was rough, desperate, as if he was trying to make up for more than a decade of being apart.

“I love you,” he breathed against Alex’s lips, and Alex held him closer, kissed him harder. When he grabbed Alex’s length, Alex hung his head and enjoyed it. Michael needed this. They both did. They needed to feel the other’s touch, to know that they were safe in each other’s arms.

So he rose and fell on Michael’s cock while Michael thrusted up into him, the two clutching each other as if it would never end.

That night as they both slept on the living room carpet, Michael’s arm curled protectively around Alex’s waist, the two naked with nothing but a blanket hanging low on their hips, Alex traced a finger down Michael’s cheek, down his jaw, down his neck and chest and stomach.

He followed the trail he left with his mouth, reveling in Michael’s warm, hairy skin against his lips, his tongue. He curled in against Michael’s body heat, and hoped that this was one of those nights when sleep came easily to him.

But then the hour passed, and Alex stayed awake. With a sigh and a gentle kiss to Michael’s chest, Alex sat up to slip on some sweats and make himself a cup of coffee for the night.

Alex didn’t hear from Michael after he left that next morning. Didn’t hear from him all day. He’d just gotten up, found Alex at the kitchen counter, but when Alex offered him a cup, Michael yanked on his clothes and stormed out, ignoring Alex’s calls.

Not even work was a sufficient enough distraction. Alex couldn’t stop wondering about what he might’ve said or done that had pissed Michael off, but he hated it. He hated being back in the place where they walked away from each other without ever confessing to what was bothering them. He hated that after everything they’d been through, Michael still shut him out.

Then, the second he got into his car to go home, he got a text.

_Can you come over?_ It was from Michael. Alex swallowed, typed out a quick, _On my way_ , and was off.

An hour of driving later (he may have broken a speed limit or two), he rounded into the junkyard to find Michael sitting in one of the two lawn chairs with a pack of beer next to him, the bonfire lit and shooting small sparks into the dark sky. Alex stepped out and limped towards them. Michael was watching him.

He shook his head, trying for a light voice despite the heavy air. “What?”

“I never get used to seeing you in the uniform,” he said, his words echoing like a distant memory of something he’d said once before. Something he had stored away in the back of his mind. Except last time, Michael had been feigning humor. This time, he didn’t bother.

“And here I thought you’d called me over for something important,” he teased, uncapping a bottle and sitting beside Michael. “Just need a drinking buddy?”

“Wanted to see if you’d actually come,” Michael said, and Alex raised a brow.

“Didn’t think I would?”

“It’s not that,” he said, and took a long gulp from his bottle. He was stalling. He swallowed, tapping the glass with his finger. “I just had to be sure.”

“About?”

Michael stared at him, pensive. “All those other times I wanted to see you . . . and all I had to do was ask.” He scoffed. “I’ve wasted so much time.”

Alex leaned back in his seat. “Yeah, well, you didn’t do it alone.” Michael looked down at his bottle. Alex tilted his head. “Guerin?”

Michael said nothing for a long time. Then, “I keep thinking . . . that if I had just been there for you . . . if I had just _told_ you I wanted to stay with you, then you wouldn’t feel like you’d only had one friend now. That this wouldn’t hurt as much if I’d cared about you as much as he had.”

Alex frowned. “Guerin, you – you can’t replace Scott for me. You can’t make him any less than what he was.”

“I keep wracking my brain about this,” he said. “If I’d showed you how much I loved you –”

“I would still be very, _very_ sad,” Alex said. “Scott wasn’t all I had. But he was someone I loved a _lot_. And loving you doesn’t make losing him any easier. I . . .” he trailed off, his head falling back with a sigh. He stared at the night sky, the glimmering stars, for a long while.

Michael eventually broke the silence. “You won’t tell me you love me.”

Alex met his gaze. His expression was furious, but his eyes were glassy. “And you don’t sleep,” he went on. “And you get calls from the military, and you crack foreign codes, and you have a whole Air Force team under your command, and you know how to handle a gun, and you’ve lost people that I don’t know in a life I have no place in, and I don’t know how to protect you from that, _and you won’t tell me you love me_.”

Alex stared. Michael finished off his bottle and tossed it roughly aside, shattering it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sniffled. “And _now_ , now you’re falling apart about your friend, and you’re going to keep falling apart whenever you get another call from another grieving family, and I have no way to protect you from that.”

“Nobody can protect me from it.”

“But I have to!”

“No, you don’t.”

“Alex, you don’t sleep!”

“I’ve never been able to sleep. I can live with that.”

“If I had just tried a little harder –”

“You wouldn’t have been able to stop me from going,” Alex said simply. He leaned in, holding Michael’s eyes. “We were _seventeen_. I had made up my mind. You wouldn’t have been able to stop me, Guerin.”

Something broke in his mask, and his lower lip quivered. “You don’t know that –”

“Yes, I do,” Alex said calmly. He huffed a chuckle even as his eyes burned. “God, I love you, and _yes_ , _I do_. I know because going was always about so much more than you. I know because it was what _I_ needed to do. And I regret a _lot_ of things, Guerin, but not the family I’ve made. If it hurts so much, then it’s only because I love them so much, and that pain is a very small price to pay for having that kind of love. I _know_ because nothing hurt me like being away from _you_. And I know I don’t say it, but it’s because I’m always so afraid that I’m – I’m _too broken_ to say it, but I _love_ you.”

He stood. “You think being part of the military,” he said, “having a team, knowing a few things about cracking codes – that _any_ of it could mean I love you any less?” He took a deep, stuttering breath. “I miss my friend. And I wish he was here. But not because he’d know what to tell me, or he’d know how to make things better, or he’d know how to help me let go, because he wouldn’t. I wish he was here just because I miss him. And I loved him. And I want him here because I want him to meet _you_. Because he said he wanted to meet you, and I wanted him to know the man I love, and he never got the chance, and I’m _pissed off_.”

He shrugged helplessly. “And sometimes things just hurt, Guerin. And you learn to live with it . . . until it’s better. Not _gone_ , just better.”

Michael looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes. Alex looked away, rubbing his burning face furiously. Was he standing that close to the bonfire that his whole body felt heated? Oddly enough, the thought made him want to laugh.

When he looked to Michael again, he couldn’t help but smile. “I love you,” he said. Then again, “I love you.” He took a deep breath. “I love you I love you I love you I love you I love love _love_ you.” As he said this, he took Michael’s face in his hands. The way Michael’s eyes fluttered, taken just by Alex’s touch, made Alex want to smother him in kisses.

“I know it’s a lot,” he said hoarsely, the lump in his throat that’s been there all day finally making its way down. “And I know you probably don’t believe me. But I’m okay. All I want is _you_. Okay? Just you.”

A tear slid down Michael’s cheek. “I can’t be good enough.”

Alex kissed his tear away, then his lips. Michael surged up to keep them connected for a moment longer.

When they pulled back to breathe, their foreheads rested against one another, Alex whispered, “You’re better.”

Michael looked up at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Alex made a silent vow to himself that if he was given the chance to be with Michael, he would tell him he loved him every day. He would smother him in kisses, and curl up close to him every night, and hold his hand tightly in his, and do whatever Michael wanted for as long as Michael wanted him to do it.

But right now . . .

“I know you might need some time,” he said. “I’ll give you tonight, but I’m coming back in the morning to see you, okay?” He kissed his lips one more time. “I love you.”

Gently pushing Michael’s curls back from his eyes, Alex straightened and turned to leave. He tried to ignore the painful grip on his heart, suffocating him and begging him to turn back around, to straddle Michael and hug his shoulders and never let him go. To kiss him and tell him just how much he worshipped him.

But as he bit his lip, fighting against every fiber of his being to go back, Michael suddenly grabbed his arm and turned him around, hugging him tightly.

Alex gasped. “M-Michael –”

“I love you,” Michael said fiercely into his ear, his arms tightening around him. “And I’m never letting you leave again.”

A cry escaped Alex’s lips, and he clutched Michael’s back, keeping him close. “Okay,” he said, and felt Michael sigh with relief against him. His eyes fell shut as Michael’s heart raced against his own. “Okay.”

So that night, Alex stayed. And he slept. Just like he slept the night after that, and the night after that, and the night after that, in Michael’s arms. One particular morning, Alex woke up to find Michael beaming.

“I woke up before you,” he said, his eyes filled with a love that made Alex blush and hide his face in his chest.

“Don’t get used to it,” Alex grumbled, but hugged Michael’s waist regardless, silently reveling in the laugh that rumbled against his cheek.

But the night after that, Alex hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. He probably should’ve stayed in bed, but being awake and doing nothing left him uncomfortable. So he did what he always did. He kissed Michael’s forehead, gently pushed himself out of bed, made himself some coffee, and got to work.

It wasn’t until several hours later when the sky lightened, with multiple tabs open on his laptop, a fourth refill of coffee at his side, and his phone still buzzing with texts from his brothers who also couldn’t sleep at this time, that Michael came into the kitchen.

Alex hesitated. Would Michael be upset with him for not being able to sleep? Would he be angry? Frustrated? Sad? The last thing Alex ever wanted to see again was the love of his life _sad_ for anything.

“Uh – do you want a cup of . . .” Alex trailed off because Michael had kept walking into the kitchen without pause, and put a camouflage-patterned mug that he’d taken to using more than any of the others under the coffee machine.

He sat down next to Alex with a yawn, kissed his cheek, then his lips, and rested his head on Alex’s shoulder.

The smell of more chocolate coffee wafted around them, the ever-present weight on Alex’s shoulders lessened slightly at the feeling of Michael’s warm body against his, the painful thoughts that had kept him awake beginning to fall back, if only for a second.

Michael didn’t seem to notice the effect he had at all as he asked, “You wanna get breakfast at the Crashdown?”

Alex smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://pastelwitchling.tumblr.com/)


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